


I'll Be Your Baby Tonight

by sabinelagrande



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Community: house_fest, F/M, One of My Favorites, Party Crashing, Pre-Canon, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-31
Updated: 2006-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On bad champagne, missed dates, package stores, and pantries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Your Baby Tonight

When Julie gives Wilson all the details about the expensive party that they simply must attend, she specifically tells him that House is in no way invited; furthermore, if he attempts to weasel his way into accompanying them, the consequences will be dire.

Wilson, being Wilson, can't find a way to tell House this, and so avoids the subject altogether. House, being House, knows something is up, and so shows up at a quarter to eight, actually dressed to Julie's standards of respectability (which include a suit that matches and one of his two good ties).

After a very tense discussion out of his presence, though definitely not out of earshot, Wilson comes back, rubbing the back of his neck in that way that usually only House can provoke.

House waves off his apologies. Having to stand around and pretend to like Julie's friends for yet another night is more than punishment enough, he decides, and gives Wilson only the bare minimum guilt trip required for abandoning one's best friend on New Year's.

On the way to the car, he tallies it up: Greg 1, Julie 1. No harm, no foul.

He stops in at his favorite bar on the way home, not really knowing or caring what he's in for. He can already tell it's going to be one of those long, rambling nights, the ones that just seem to go whatever it wants.

The manager's hired some college kid to play the piano; he's not unskilled, but he's just bad enough to set House's teeth on edge. The air is positively teeming with excitement, with hope and best wishes for the year to come. House wonders who kidnapped his bar and replaced it with a Kodak commercial.

Because it's his bar, he orders anyway, and his bartender doesn't look anymore happy about the atmosphere than he does.

"To the new year, which will be exactly like the old year," he says, raising his glass. "Until February, when we all realize we've been writing our dates wrong." That gets him one on the house (the bartender is notoriously easy to amuse); he tosses a few dollars on the bar anyway and heads back onto the streets.

Passing the package store, he suddenly remembers that Cuddy's supposed to have a date tonight, some businessman Julie set her up with. On impulse, he goes in and buys the cheapest, tackiest bottle of champagne he can find and races off to Cuddy's house. If they're there, it's Greg 2; if they're not, more bad champagne for him.

The street's lined with cars from a big party across the street, which blows his chances of telling whether or not his car's outside, but the light's on in the living room, which House takes as a sign. He parks his car in the driveway (with only the slightest hint of possessive intent) and, armed with his liquor, knocks on the door.

He's not prepared for the sight that greets him- she's decked out in a stunning purple dress that leaves all the right things to the imagination, the effect only slightly spoiled by the fact that she's barefoot.

"Speechless," she snorts. "I win the pool."

"Let me guess," he says when he regains himself. "Your date's hiding naked in the hallway, just waiting for you to get rid of me so the carnal carnival can continue."

"So that's where he is?" she replies, standing to the side of the doorway to admit him. Exaggeratedly, she steps into the living room and peers down the hall to the bedroom. "Damn, no such luck."

House steps in, closing the door behind him with this cane. "You're supposed to scare them off after they show up, not before."

"You apparently managed to scare off even Saint Jimmy, so I bow to the master." The remark is more biting that he's used to from her, but it's not surprising, even less so considering the conspicuous wine glass on the coffee table next to her discarded shoes.

"Such remarks demand punishment, young padawan."

"What did you have in mind?" Her voice only barely brushes the innuendo, but House catches it all the same.

Ostentatiously, he presents the champagne. "Trial by ordeal."

"Oh my God," she says, examining the label. "Does this even have grapes in it?"

"Only one way to find out," he responds, taking it back and tearing off the foil, only to find a screw top instead of a cork. "That wasn't as dramatic as I'd hoped."

The champagne is even worse than the label suggests, but Cuddy soon discovers that the best way to deal with it is to drink it very fast. This plan gets them nearly to the bottom of the bottle before the taste catches up.

"What time is it?" Cuddy asks, with only a little bit of giggling.

"Ten thirty," House says, staring in disbelief at his watch.

"Hell. What are we gonna do until midnight?" House cocks an eyebrow at her, and she sticks her tongue out at him in retaliation.

"Not invited to the neighbors' party?"

Cuddy rolls her eyes. "Wouldn't go if I was. Bunch of boring, pretentious bastards. It's like going to work."

"More pretentious than me?"

"They make you look like Mother Theresa."

"Now, Mother Theresa, that was a self-aggrandizing old bitch." This makes Cuddy erupt into rather more giggling than is warranted, and an impulse takes him. "Let's crash it."

"What?" She's scandalized, which is a pretty good sign that he can talk her into it. "We can't just go-"

"You live at the hospital. They wouldn't know you from Adam." He can't help but smirk. "And if they catch us, we'll just run like hell."

"Easy for you to say," she giggles.

"C'mon. Put your shoes on, let's go," he says, standing up and offering her a hand. She very nearly brings them both down again, pitching forward before righting herself. There's a moment in the shuffle where it gets serious, when House catches her looking at him with the same hungry look that must be all over his face. But it passes as quickly as it comes, and he packs her off across the street with only a moderate amount of stumbling.

The party has grown huge, sprawling out into the immaculately manicured lawn. There's a knot of people just in front of the door talking about something nautical that goes right over her head. "That's the host," she tells him, indicating a tallish man who's embroiled in debate with a man in a blue blazer.

"Follow my lead," House tells her, and snatches them a pair of drinks off a passing waiter. He worms his way into the group, pushing past a bored woman who looks grateful for the interruption.

Blue blazer is rambling on, color starting to rise to his face. "Now, really, Tom, if you'd just shore up the-"

"Actually, I find that the Laser Standard is much less stiff than the Fireball," House interrupts, adopting a posh British accent.

"Exactly what I've been trying to say," blue blazer says. It's a few beats before he realizes he has no idea who's said it. "I don't believe we've been introduced. Thomas Shook."

"Rupert van Windinghamshire," House tells him, extending his hand. "Of the Oxford van Windinghamshires," he adds, with a sniff. "And this is my lovely wife, Vanessa."

"Nice to meet you," Cuddy says, trying to retain her composure.

"Todd Knight," the tall man tells them, squinting at Cuddy. "Have we met before?"

"Nessa's sister lives across the way, isn't that right, darling?" Cuddy nods, still trying not to laugh.

"That must be it," Todd says, sounding unconvinced.

"And Margo was my sorority sister," Cuddy adds, taking a wild guess. Todd immediately brightens.

"We'd ought to go look for her, darling," House says, smiling at her and winding his arm around her waist. "So nice to meet you all."

"Your accent isn't fooling anybody," Cuddy hisses at him as they make their way into the house. "How did you know what they were talking about?"

"I listened," he tells her sarcastically, still in accent. "The people next to them were talking about Italian architecture, and I picked the one I could fake."

Inside, there's an average string quartet playing average music next to an average buffet. There is an open bar, however, which House wastes no time in visiting. When he presses another drink into her hand, Cuddy almost hesitates; the alcohol is playing merry Hell with her inhibitions. In the end, she takes it- if there ever was a night to drink, this was it.

"Richard Hampshire," he tells the next group they invade, keeping the act up.

"Virginia Bartlett-Hampshire," she adds, before he can introduce her. "Of the Newport Bartletts."

They're talking about English authors, one of them rampantly lying about T. S. Eliot to make herself look better. One or two of her companions are eying her suspiciously, knowing how full of it she is, but Cuddy seems to be the only one drunk or unconcerned enough to set her straight. As she's talking, he fiddles with the cascade of fabric on the back of her dress. She's terribly aware of his hand brushing against her, but she makes a valiant effort to ignore it. Around the time that she explains that "The Hollow Men" is not, in fact, about the Vietnam War, he gives up the pretense of the fabric and just lets his hand rest gently below her waist.

It becomes sort of a game after that, Cuddy pretending to be involved in conversation, House testing exactly how thoroughly he can grope her before she slaps him. She never does; when he's to the squeezing stage, she grabs his arm and leads him off, the women behind them muttering about what odd people they are.

"You are such an ass."

"Are the twins jealous? Cause they should know, from the bottom of my heart, that I'll always love them."

"When we get home, I'm going to-" she starts, but trails off, realizing that it probably ends with "twice" or "your brains out".

"Oh, please, please finish that sentence. You were just getting to the good part," House replies with a clairvoyant smile, and Cuddy can feel herself go pink. He looks about for a second, as if searching for something. "What time is it?"

"Eleven twenty-five," she replies with a sigh, looking at her cell phone. "Jesus, that felt like an eternity."

House has got a very dangerous look on his face. "How much do we hate these people?"

Cuddy considers. "Enough to roll their house, if this were junior high?"

"Perfect. Finish that," he says, tilting his head toward her drink. She shrugs, tossing it back and pawning the glass off on a passing waiter.

He leads her past the band and through a short corridor. The kitchen is surprisingly empty, the caterers having abandoned it for greener pastures. After a few false starts, House finds the door to the rather spacious pantry and, before she has a chance to argue, pushes Cuddy in, closing the door behind him.

"House, what-" she starts, but her words are cut off by his lips. It's pitch black, but she hears the rattle of his cane as he props it against something. Suddenly he's pinning her to the shelves, hands bracing him near the sides of her head.

"Tell me to stop," he dares her, which both of them know is a completely empty gesture.

"No accent," she says, upon consideration.

He chuckles, moving one hand down to her breast as he investigates her neck. A voice in Cuddy's brain is screaming that she should push him away, apologize to the party, go home, think of her dignity, but that voice is rapidly being silenced.

House pulls back after a few moments, leaning against the shelves opposite. She hears the telltale click of the bottle as he pops a Vicodin; she almost chides him, but stops. That kind of comment would make this all too serious, break the spell of it. She's glad she didn't when she hears him start to maneuver downwards, as if to kneel.

"Huh," he says from the floor, sounding amused.

"What?"

"Somebody left a pillow down here." There is a pause. "No, wait, bag of marshmallows."

"Same thing." His hands are cold on her calves, pushing the soft fabric of her dress up and over her knees. She doesn't mind, though, because every inch of her skin feels like it's on fire. His lips follow his hands, nipping and licking at the skin of her legs.

"Cuddy," he says with mock reproach when he reaches the top of her thighs. "Forget something at home?"

"I did have a date, you know."

"Ought to paddle you for that."

She grabs a box at random from the shelves. "Here. You can use this box of," she squints at the label, "cornstarch."

"Damn, cornstarch: the least sexy of the dry goods." She's about to say something witty about baking powder when House presses a finger inside of her and the thought becomes suddenly uninteresting. Tongue soon joins fingers, and she thanks God she's got something to hold onto.

Cuddy isn't quite sure whether he's amazing at this or whether it's just been too long, but it's wonderful all the same. He hits a particularly sensitive spot, and she practically knocks him backwards; that earns her a laugh (which she decides she could stand a few thousand more of) and a warm hand splayed on her hip, holding her in place.

In the space of a very short time, she's forgotten all about where she is (minus the occasional intrusion of a canned good pressing into her back). So when a light appears at the bottom of the pantry, it's a harsh fall back to reality. Cuddy is terrified for a moment, thinking they've been caught; she's just pissed when she realizes it's from her cell phone.

"Five minutes to midnight," he tells her, laying a kiss on the inside of her thigh and smoothing her dress back down. She can't find any words to express her outrage, so she settles for incoherent stammering. "We're on a mission, here," he reminds her, rising with some difficulty and grabbing his cane. "And besides, we are literally fifty yards from your bed." She glowers at him, an expression wasted in the darkness.

She very nearly opens the door on a waiter, who cocks an eyebrow at them. Cuddy opens her purse, grabs the first bill she sees, and puts it in his vest pocket, and he smiles, tapping the side of his nose.

House guides them back to the epicenter of the party, where Cuddy realizes she's standing next to the hostess.

"Your house is very lovely. Quite spacious," she says, for the sheer mischief of it.

Margo is more than a bit tipsy, and this news doesn't interest her as much as the people giving delivering it. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

"Reginald and Victoria de Windshire," Cuddy tells her, in her best accent.

"From Kent," House adds. Before she can express her confusion, somebody starts the countdown. At the stroke of midnight, Cuddy grabs House by the tie and practically crashes her lips against his. He still tastes faintly of champagne and strongly of her, and so much the better.

"Take me home," she growls into his ear, and with a smile and wave to Margo, they're gone.

She's breathless with laughter by the time they get into the house. They very nearly don't make it to the bedroom; the quick kiss she was intending to steal upon walking into the door somehow mutates into a ten-minute make-out session against the door, which gets completely sidetracked when House drops his cane and it, inexplicably, ends up under the couch.

They do make it to the bed eventually, though, and Cuddy is quick to push him down, straddling him (she's considered the logistics of this situation more times than she'd care to admit at any time other than now). The tie, however, wasn't part of the original calculations; using it to knot his hands to the headboard is a rather inspired deviation.

He's got a look on his face like he's going to say something far too clever; but she reaches up and undoes the halter of her dress, and he's speechless for a second time.

House looks from her breasts to his bound hands. "You complete bitch."

Cuddy smiles at him rather evilly. "Revenge is sweet."

She slowly unbuttons his shirt, moving unnecessarily close but staying just out of his limited reach. Cuddy climbs off him, a move that makes him glare at her in frustration, and kneels next to him. She unzips his pants, pulling them down over his hips and not bothering to pull them off (which has the double benefit of making him less mobile and sparing either of them from having a moment over his leg).

She licks his cock very slowly, pausing to suck the head not nearly hard enough (this is about payback, after all). He's making the best little noises, hips practically levitating off the bed. She takes her sweet time about it, lapping and teasing until even she can barely take it anymore.

After what seems like an eternity (to House, anyway), Cuddy throws her leg back over his waist and, without any prelude, sinks down around him. After all the teasing that this night has been, it's ineffably good just having him inside her. She rolls her hips into his, not so much thrusting as just moving. To her great regret, she can't help getting faster, to the point where she's practically bouncing on top of him. House groans helplessly, trying to lift himself up as much as he can to meet her.

The fabric of his pants and her skirt provide a weird sort of counterpoint, and it feels like only minutes before she can feel her orgasm start to build. She grinds down on him particularly hard; he moans hoarsely and she can feel him pulse inside of her. Barely a touch to her clit, and she's coming too, riding it out for all it's worth.

Cuddy only just remembers to untie him before sliding off. She heads off to the bathroom (too many years of UTI horror stories, and it gets ingrained), pulling her dress over her head and throwing it into the hamper. By the time she gets back, House is only just sitting up, rubbing his wrists and thighs in turns. She finds his cane on the floor where it's been flung and hands it to him, and he hobbles off to the bathroom. House surprises her when he (after finding his coat and popping a Vicodin, ingrained behavior again) climbs back into her bed. She's not sure why it surprises her, but it does.

Cuddy rolls over to face him. "That was the most reckless, illegal, stupid thing I've done since I was twenty."

"What, the sex?" House says, purposefully dense. "Cause if that was you now, I think you'd've killed me at twenty." She rolls her eyes at him. "So, next New Year's?"

"Why stop there? They also have a party for the Fourth of July."

"Bound to be a family friendly event. I like it."

"It's a cook-out, too," she says, yawning. "Added bonus of the great outdoors."

"'What's that behind that bush, dad?' 'Look away, son.'"

Cuddy just laughs, but then there's a pregnant pause. "Do you mind if I stay?" The words sound like they're hurting him to say, and the room is very still for a minute.

Cuddy breaks the tension by laughing and rolling over, fitting herself into the curve of his body. "Please. You'd get pulled over before you got out of the neighborhood, and I know I'm more inviting than the couch."

House pretends to consider this. "It is leather." His hand steals over her back, sliding up to toy with her nipple. "But you do have your advantages."

"Thanks," she says, meaning to be sarcastic, but she doesn't quite get there. His touch is more soothing than sexy, and after a few languid kisses she can't seem to keep her eyes open anymore.

Cuddy falls asleep wondering if he'll be there when she wakes up.


End file.
